Epiphany
by Lady Charity
Summary: Death is for the alive, my dear.
1. Chapter 1

**I've reread my old Sweeney stories and decided I needed to redeem myself. I don't know about you, but I found many things I needed to improve on. Especially Sickened Soul, but I am not going to rewrite that. No siree, I had enough of rewriting. This is pretty much a collection of oneshots about the cruelty of men, which is as wondrous as Peru…and how they paid the price.**

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm sorry!"

The pitiful cries pricked Sweeney Todd's ears. He raised an eyebrow as he slunk towards his window. At the foot of the stairs there was a tiny, frail girl cowering in the shadows of a towering man. Garnet blood was trickling from her button nose, and tears gushed out of her bruised eyes.

The man struck her across the head with his gloved hand. "Shut up, you bag of muck. Stop that awful sniveling, it's giving me a headache."

The little girl whimpered and struggled to end her flow of tears, but failed. The man tersely grabbed a handful of her yellow hair and wrenched her up until her tiny feet dangled above the ground. She shrieked and sobbed, begging her father to stop.

"You worthless shit," he growled. "I rue the day you were born." He flung her to the ground, dusting his hands off as if he just dealt with a slime-covered hog. "Now don't you dare move an inch. I'm getting myself a shave and then we'll finally see that workhouse manager."

Boiling fury surged in Mr. Todd's blood. What kind of father was that man? His entire body stiffened and burned with unquenchable rage. The man was a monster, a filthy, disgusting monster. How dare he beat and humiliate her in front of London? At that thought, Mr. Todd clenched his teeth and balled his fists. All of London didn't even care about the girl. They just ambled along to fulfill their own agendas.

Mr. Todd's eyes flickered down for a moment to the little girl before she disappeared behind the stairs. Yellow hair. She had the exact shade of gold as Lucy and Johanna. Before he knew it, hatred and vehement clutched Mr. Todd's heart and wrung it, squeezing all the fury and abhorrence into his blood. His mind suddenly pictured Lucy or Johanna being abused like that, and Mr. Todd immediately forgot about anything else except that everyone deserved to die. Especially _him_.

A red glint sparked his dark eyes for a moment as the man traipsed up the wooden stairs, adjusting his bowler hat smartly. Mr. Todd breathed deeply before professionally admitting the man inside the shop.

"Good afternoon, sir," he greeted through gritted teeth. "How may I pamper you?"

"Just a shave, and make it quick," snapped the man as he tossed his hat to the coat rack, which nearly hit Mr. Todd in the process. "I've got an important appointment to attend soon, and I'd rather not miss it."

"Oh?" said Mr. Todd, lathering the thick white paste over the man's chin. His entire mind craved for spilt blood. He was practically trembling with anticipation. The blade was right in his holster; he could just do it now…

_Patience, my friend_, he urged both his razor and himself. _How can you take joy in revenge if it doesn't last?_

"With the workhouse manager. It's about time my petty child did something worthwhile for this family. All she does is take our food and clothes, she might as well earn it."

Mr. Todd glared at the man's finely trimmed jacket and the velvety bowler hat. This man was the last person who needed to worry about money and food.

"Well, I heard the workhouse was a dangerous place for children," Mr. Todd said calmly, though he felt far from serene. He flicked out the razor, the silver gleam grinning back at him with shrewdness. "I heard stories about children's limbs snapping off because of the machines."

"That's precisely what I'm hoping for," the man grumbled. Mr. Todd froze in mid-shave, his muscles rigid with loathing. He gripped so tightly on the blade's handle that his knuckles turned ashen.

"Oh, don't you fret, sir," Mr. Todd chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery. "You won't be late at all for your appointment…with the devil."

The man's eyes flipped wide open in shock as Mr. Todd offered a sardonic smirk. He opened his mouth to utter a bloodcurdling scream, but didn't have the chance. Mr. Todd flung the razor right into his throat. Cascades of sanguine gushed from the wound as the man gurgled and choked, clawing desperately to dislodge the blade. Frothy blood and saliva spewed from his mouth as he sputtered desperately for life. Mr. Todd watched with a cynical grin as the man's frightened eyes clouded and his fingers remained frozen at his throat. Mr. Todd lazily jerked the blade from his patron's throat, tucking it back into its cozy nest.

"F-father?" stammered the slight voice outside. "Are you all right?" Padded footsteps were heard climbing the stairs. Mr. Todd narrowed his eyes.

The body was discarded long before the child stepped into the barbershop.

**What are your thoughts? Please tell me. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I never actually plan my story as I write it (The Mysteries of the Past, My Love is an exception because the plot is rather complicated...), so if this chapter doesn't make sense, I apologize and will look at that. I really just write as I go along. Enjoy!**

* * *

_I've never had dreams, only nightmares._

* * *

How long has it been, since Anthony laid eyes on sweet Johanna? Only a month? Maybe even less. But such a paltry amount of time felt like blissed eternity to the both of them. It was as if their life was prologue to the very moment they met.

The two joined a new ship called the Flying Pearl once they escaped. It was too dangerous to return to the Bountiful, in case Judge Turpin traced back to Anthony's past and decided to pursue the both of them in hopes of reclaiming his ward. Johanna had immediately proved to be a hardworking and strong woman. The new crew accepted the two graciously, or as graciously as a wild sailor could be.

Unfortunately, nothing good can stay.

Anthony noticed how withdrawn Johanna seemed. Ever since they escaped the bloodstained city of London, the little glow in Johanna's eyes seemed to diminish. Her voice would suddenly falter in mid-speech, and she would be marooned on her island of memories and silence. She seldom spoke anymore, but preferred to croon softly in her work, whether it was washing the laundry or knotting ropes.

"You ought to be daft, Hope," muttered Anthony's new companion, Carrow. "Ya shouldn't have brought a lass with you onto this boat." He cast a glance at Johanna, who was busily scrubbing the deck.

"And a pretty one too," murmured an eavesdropper, Lanson.

"Don't tell me you believe all the superstition about bad luck," sighed Anthony. "That's absurd. Without Johanna, you all wouldn't have clean clothes or darned socks."

"I'm not implying that, Hope," grumbled Carrow. "But lasses aren't s'posed to be sailing abroad. They should stay home and be a lovely housewife."

"She wanted to come, and I don't want to be separated from her for so long," Anthony argued.

"And," Carrow continued, his voice lowering. "ya can't ever trust every man on this ship when it comes to ladies."

Anthony's eyes widened. "You better not be speaking of yourself, Carrow!"

"Not me! Never me!" Carrow insisted. "I already have me own girl back in Liverpool. But you better keep an eye on some o' the crew."

Anthony nodded absentmindedly, not giving much heed to Carrow's warning. Who would really harm sweet, kind Johanna?

How foolish he was.

Anthony never really did notice the eyes gaping at his Johanna, glinting with filthy lust.

Midnight dawned upon the Flying Pearl as it slowly docked in the city of Wexford, Ireland. Johanna laid motionless in her cot, her chocolate eyes wide awake. All around her, men slept so soundly that the trumpets of doom would fail to rouse them. She shivered slightly under her ragged quilt. She clutched Anthony's hand, who was sleeping on the floor under her. She was afraid to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the images of the blood-soaked man and the dead corpses in the bakehouse flooded her mind and injected fear into her blood. She found it impossible to talk to Anthony about it, because she was scared that if she did, all of the horrid memories would replay again.

Johanna sighed and silently slipped out of the cot, wary not to waken any of the slumbering sailors. It was impossible to sleep now. She piled her pale gold hair into a neat bun and crept up on deck. The night sky was smooth and painted with the most sumptuous hues of rich indigo. Johanna outstretched a pale hand toward the sky, almost expecting to feel the night's downy texture. The black ocean lapped the ship's side and Wexford's wharf like a rhythmic song. The edge of the moon was glowing like a sliver of a pearl in its nest of black velvet.

Suddenly, padded footsteps sounded behind her. Johanna whirled around, but the moonlight was too dim to see. Her heart thumped apprehensively as her body froze with anxiety.

"Who's there?" she cried, her voice remaining steady. A nerve-wracking chill immediately shot down her spine, as if it was a premonition. Without warning, a brawny figure lunged at her. Johanna suddenly collapsed, her arms and legs pinned to the ground. The man dug his jagged nails into her thin wrists, his putrid breath blowing heavily against her skin. Johanna screamed for help before a pair of burly hands clutched her slim throat, choking the air out of her lungs. Johanna gasped and sputtered, struggling as hard as she could to free herself. The hammy hands pressed harder until her airway was completely blocked. She thrashed and flailed, socking the man on the chin, but without avail. The stranger cuffed and beat her violently until blood trickled from her injuries. Johanna's head spun with lack of air and pain.

"If you even make a sound," the man hissed. "then I'll just have to slice your pretty swan neck." He whipped out a rusting knife, the silver twinkling against the dark night. Johanna shuddered uncontrollably, fear swallowing her whole. The man slowly released her throat and pressed the dull blade against her skin. She closed her eyes and strained to breath evenly. What was this man going to do?

Without warning, the man gripped her tattered skirt and wrenched it away. Johanna gasped as he groped for her combinations. There was no doubt what he intended to do next. Without a second of hesitation, Johanna screamed and kicked the man as hard as she could. The man howled in pain and furiously stabbed with his knife. Johanna rolled out of the way and struggled to climb onto her feet, but was so dizzy that she toppled onto the deck. Her entire body ached and she could see the stars spinning wildly.

"Johanna!" cried a familiar voice. Anthony rushed to her side, shocked at the blood and bruises on her body. He looked up to see the oppressor, desperately wrenching his knife from the deck.

"You!" Anthony yelled. His eyes widened when the moon slipped out of the clouds' grasps, revealing the man. "Lanson!"

Lanson immediately abandoned his task and scampered off the deck with terror. He hurled himself over the side of the ship and crashed onto the wharf before disappearing into the sleepy city of Wexton. Anthony made to pursue him, but Johanna's heavy breathing and dry sobs worried him. He scooped her into his arms, wincing at the dark blood on her face and clothes, and dashed to the captain.

* * *

"Will you be all right, Johanna?"

Johanna blearily nodded as she limped through the streets. Wexton's doctor cared for her wounds. They couldn't see the ship's doctor because he had fallen ill to scurvy and died not too long ago. Irony was always their closest companion.

"I swear, if I ever see Lanson again I'll...well, I better not see him again," mumbled Anthony as he supported Johanna.

"It's all right, Anthony, don't be angry," murmured Johanna. She swallowed, repressing a shudder. It hadn't occurred to her till now that this was the second time her throat was almost slit.

"Does it still hurt?" Anthony asked gently. Johanna shook her head, leaning on Anthony. "We'll get to the ship soon…"

Anthony abruptly froze, nearly sending Johanna crumpling to the ground. She clutched his arm worriedly. What was going on? She glanced up at Anthony. His eyes were wide and livid.

"Lanson," he whispered. She gasped and whirled around. Lanson had failed to discreetly escape. He too stiffened, half-concealed in the shadows of the alleyway. Johanna felt Anthony's skin burn under his clothes and his muscles grow rigid. She trembled and gripped on Anthony's elbow tighter.

"Let's go, Anthony, leave him," she whispered.

"_I'll kill you!_" Anthony hollered. In one swift motion, he wrenched out of Johanna's grasp and darted towards Larson, his arms flailing and punching him. Lanson growled and struggled to wrestle Anthony away, bashing him against the head.

"Leave him alone!" Johanna cried. She hobbled towards Lanson before swiping a rock from the ground and hurling it towards his head. It met its mark with a loud _thump_, leaving a scarlet gash. Lanson howled before steering Anthony into the alleyway. The two disappeared into the murky shadows. Johanna was rooted to the spot with fear, breathing heavily.

"Stop it! Don't fight him!" she pleaded, staggering towards the alleyway. Suddenly, a macabre scream pierced her ears. Her eyes widened; who screamed?

A river of blood trickled out of the alleyway.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"Get out of my way, you coot."

Toby was suddenly roughly shoved. He stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face on the cold stone ground. He hastily regained his posture, glaring at the lanky boy that pushed him.

"A simple 'excuse me' would do the trick," Toby said sharply.

"What for? You were wastin' space as always," snapped the bully. Toby gritted his teeth and dusted his threadbare clothes. His mind burned with anger and desperately sought revenge, but it wasn't the Christian thing to do. He breathed deeply, struggling to remain calm. Wasn't he used to this sort of treatment? He was never very popular amongst the children in the workhouse.

"'Ow am I wastin' space, Adam? I'm doin' the same thing as you are in this spike."

"Your slow and stupid, tha's why," growled Adam. "Now move along and don't potter about."

Toby scowled before returning to his work on the machines. The menacing metal monster glowered down at him before reluctantly spinning the wool. Toby carefully controlled the machine, his entire body tense. He had seen many instances where the machines would snag the young boys' uniforms and wrench them in before mauling them to death.

"So 'ow does it feel, coot, to find ou' ya parents are dead?"

Toby stiffened. His heart wrung with pain at the mere memory about it. Just three days ago, he had painfully discovered that his mother starved to death and his father succumbed to sickness. The workhouse was their killer. Toby clenched his hands into fists, fury searing in his mind.

"Shove off, Adam," snapped Toby, forcing his mind to concentrate on his work.

"Poor bleeders, dying off like tha'. Though I got t' say, s'not much o' a loss. They's probably coopered numskulls like ya," snickered Adam. "Useless, brainless dogs that didn't do nothin'."

"You shut ya trap, Adam," Toby retorted. His teeth were clenched and he could feel a dangerous fire brewing inside his chest. "If ya say one mo' thing 'bout me folks, I swear I will give ya such a sockdologer tha'-"

"What's this I 'ear?" smirked Adam, crossing his arms. "Lil' Ragg's threat'nin' to beat me? Tha' ought to earn ya a good whipping, or a week in the Punishment Block."

Toby pursed his lips before turning his back on Adam, pointedly ignoring him. Adam growled and leaned closer, his chapped lips scraping Toby's ears.

"I don't care 'ow young you are, I'll beat the shit out of you if you e'er mess with me."

Adam chortled coldly before slapping the back of Toby's head. He swaggered away, still chuckling. Toby gritted his teeth, abhorrence burning his throat like vomit. Stupid Adam, thinking he grew ten inches overnight. Just because Adam happened to have an actual home to go to after a hard day's work didn't make him any better than Toby, did it? He pushed the thought out of his mind, thinking only of the coarse spinning thread.

"Help! No-STOP!"

Toby perked up at the sound of pleads. He spun around wildly, searching for the oppressed. Hastily shutting down the machine, he scampered towards a huddled throng of children. Loud voices and thumps rang out like church bells. Toby squirmed through the tightly knit wall of boys and girls. Adam and another unfortunate boy was surrounded by the children. Adam beat and clawed at the poor boy, his grubby fingers digging into his skin. He gave a high-pitched laugh before thrusting his hand into the boy's curly hair and gripped it tightly. Like a puppeteer, Adam banged the boy's head over and over again on the icy floor. The boy thrashed and sobbed, his arms flailing to throw off Adam.

Toby bit his lip. He was afraid of offending Adam, for Adam was indeed popular in the workhouse for giving the worst whippings. But the poor boy's cries and screams pierced his heart. He braced himself before grabbing Adam by the shoulders and shoving him off of the victim.

"Stop it, you git!" bellowed Toby. "Get away, you hear?" All fears of Adam fighting him disappeared when he saw the blood on the poor boy's face. Instead of disobeying, Adam silently slipped away. Toby ignored this and helped the boy in a sitting position. His eyes were blackened and his nose was most likely broken. Toby gulped at the grotesque sight.

"Can you move?" Toby asked. "Someone, get Master-!"

"What's goin' on in 'ere?" bellowed a raspy voice. Toby felt his entire body freeze at that voice. Master Hampton had arrived. Like the Red Sea, the crowd of boys hastily parted, forming a passageway for Master Hampton. Toby fearfully glanced up and realized with a jolt that his shirt and hands were covered in the boy's blood. Master Hampton's every step added another cup of fear into Toby's mind until it nearly overflowed.

And on top of everything else, Adam was right next to Master Hampton, grinning sardonically down at Toby. Toby shivered with a mixture of fear and indignant anger.

"Ragg, what in hellfire do you think you're doing?" growled Master Hampton, grabbing Toby by the nape of his neck and forcing him onto his feet.

"I didn't do anything wrong, sir!" Toby pleaded.

"Come on, Ragg, we all know you're lying," Adam sneered. "Master 'ampton, Toby's been beating up ol' James 'ere, an' all these kiddies know tha' too." He immediately shot the iciest glare at the surrounding boys that could've froze not only hell, but Toby's anger too. That was not an easy feat. The boys squeaked with fear and hurriedly nodded. Toby's eyes widened.

"I didn't do it, sir!" Toby cried. "Adam was the one beating up James! I stopped 'im and tried to help 'im!"

"Then why did Adam fetch me to stop _you_ from hurting James?" hissed Master Hampton. "That's it, boy, this means thirty lashes for you."

"Believe me, sir, I wouldn't lie! I never 'urt 'im! Ask the boys, they know the truth, they's jus' scared o' Adam!" He turned desperately to the circle of children, begging for backup. "C'mon, lads! Don't lie! Tell the truth! I ne'er 'urt James!"

The boys coiled away in fear, shaking their heads vigorously. Toby's heart froze before Master Hampton roughly grabbed Toby by the hair and threw him to the ground. Toby didn't have time to crawl on all fours before sharp pain tore his back. Toby yelped as the rubbery whip clawed at his skin and left angry welts. He clenched his fists and bit his lip, swallowing his half-uttered screams. But it wasn't the whip that hurt him the most. All he could think of was Adam's laughs as he was hurt, Adam's lies that forced him into this situation, Adam, Adam, Adam. A scorching anger singed his insides that made him have the urge to jump onto his feet and claw Adam to death.

When the last lashing fell onto his back, Toby's entire torso was throbbing. He clambered on shaky feet as the Master scoffed at him and haughtily returned to his refuge of blancmanges and cigars. Immediately the guilty onlookers turned away in shame, firmly busying themselves with their work. Toby trembled as he slowly made his way to his machine.

He wanted to tear Adam into pieces, to watch him bleed and get punished. He sought vengeance more than anything else. Hate was a poison and revenge was the antidote. But no...he shouldn't get revenge. It would eat him alive. He must..._must _stay calm...

"Aww, is wittle Toby cwying from the big, bad whipping?" crooned the most horrible, ugliest voice in all of London's history. Toby swallowed a mouthful of saliva and gritted his teeth. The welts on his back stung even more at the sound of Adam.

"Adam, you be'er get away from me now. Get away from me, or else I won't e'en try t' control my anger," Toby warned in a low voice.

"And then what? Get yeself another whipping?" Adam grinned. "Your back will get so swelled up you'd be one o' those humpbacks. Ragg the Humpback!"

"I swear Adam, you make me any angrier an' then-"

"What can ya possibly do, eh? Do me in? Ha! Like tha's e'er gonna 'appen-"

Toby whirled around, his fists clenched and his teeth bared. Adam stepped back in mild surprise.

Suddenly, everything happened in the speed of light.

Adam had gotten too close to a working machine. The metallic monster snagged part of Adam clothes and reeled him in. Adam screamed, his eyes bulging with fear and the machine pulled him in. Toby gasped and squeezed his eyes tight as Adam's high-pitched screams echoed and tore his ears. The yells were suddenly silenced and only the rusty clanking of metal was heard. He blearily opened his eyes, afraid of what he would see.

Clumps of churned flesh was smeared all over the machine. Tufts of Adam's hair was tangled in the metal teeth and boiling blood oozed and stained the factory.

_Three times through for them to be tender and juicy..._


End file.
